Logan knew they were getting close, knew the lead from Gaia had helped and Tony was still doing whatever the hell it was he did. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought of his little sister getting taken; he couldn't be 100% sure but when he'd gone to her place, it had been trashed.

He knew he wasn't just spinning his wheels but it sure as fuck felt like that. He was built for action, for kicking asses and asking questions later, so to find himself unable to do so was supremely frustrating. He wanted to howl at the damn moon and would if that would get him anywhere. His animal was closer to the surface these days, peeking out from his eyes more often than not, and he itched for the chance to let it loose. He'd seen something similar in the eyes of Andrew and even Ororo who always councelled peace.

Putting on a brave and competent face for the remaining students was more difficult than he'd ever thought possible. Were Xavier around, the telepath would know what to do to calm the students, to help them understand what was going on in a way that Logan couldn't even begin to verbalize. He'd begun sending the ones with questions to the school counselor (he felt kind of bad for dumping them on her, but he wasn't trained for this shit) for lack of anything better to do.

When the X-Men congregated to discuss and plan, the anger in the air was tangible, every person in the room moving with the unspoken need to just do something; he remembered his discussion with Kitty about feeling like he was sitting on his hands waiting for something bad to happen. I was right, kitten. I fucking wish I weren't.

Going back to his bed at night was hell. The sheets always smelled like Matty and as much as he just wanted to strip them off for clean ones, he couldn't bear the thought of not having at least some part of her around. He'd get a few fitful hours of sleep before rising and heading for the Danger Room to work off the anger and the tension and the fear.

Tonight, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to head to bed yet. Just two nights before the abduction he and Matty had finally said the words, finally verbalized feelings that both felt but had never said out loud. His chest felt tight when he thought of it, when the worst case scenarios ran through his head and he imagined finding her dead. He dug into his stash of good alcohol, grabbed a bottle of Nikka single cask whiskey bought on his last jaunt through Japan, and headed for the solarium to smoke and drink and maybe get a little numb.

Ethan had spent the first two nights after the kidnapping drinking himself into a stupor. In fact, one of those nights he'd spent with Tony, while the billionaire was trying to hack into some airport's computer system (Ethan couldn't remember; he'd been blitzed at the time). He hadn't shaved since Friday, when the kids had gone missing, and now sported a decent growth of beard.

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John was awaiting execution or as close as it got to the actual event with Storm and Logan's hands on the lever, wondering when the floor would open up underneath him and he'd feel the break as he plummeted or would he be spared that mercy and instead be subjected to suffocating?

*Snap, click, snap, click*

He watched the flame as it danced within the confines of its holder, wondering if he would ever really be able to manufacture them the same way Bobby did with ice or if he'd forever be confined to finding a source.

*Snap, click, snap, click*

It was in the moments alone that John's demons ate at him, the words his father shouted at him echoed in his skull, reminding him of things he'd rather leave forgotten, dead and buried. If only his father was the same way. He breathed through the momentary surge of self hatred and tipped his head back, closing his eyes and willing himself through the familiar dark recesses of his mind.

*Snap, click, snap, click*

He ruffled at his hair and brushed a hand over the bottom of his nose, flinching a little when a sharp pain went shooting up it and instantly rampaged over his right eye and then sunk into his temple. John knew he could be in his room right now, but he wasn't sure he could cope with Bobby's concerned eyes, not wanting to snap at the other boy when he was just worried about him.

*Snap, click, snap, click*

John was sat in one of the quieter corridors, away from prying eyes, curled up on himself with just his trusty lighter for company.

Ethan hadn't intended to go out drinking, it had just sort of happened. He had gone out for a walk, disappearing into the nearby town for several hours after his classes were over. Really, he only needed a change of scenery, but as he passed by one of the bars, the thought of having a pint sounded really, truly appealing.

Getting into a fight with another man who was convinced that Ethan had been eyeing him, however, was not. He had been eyeing the man, to be honest, because he was attractive, in a certain rough and tumble sort of way. Only now Ethan found himself roughed and tumbled and very, very drunk. How he had managed to wind his way back home, he wasn't sure.

He was certain, unfortunately, that in his drunken haze, he had forgotten the security code for the front gates. Wincing, he leaned against the wrought iron gate and pushed the intercom button. Incessantly. "Somebody, please, please, let me in," he whined. Dammit, he was hurt and drunk, and if he was found passed out in this spot come morning, he was going to be very irate.

Doug being Doug, he'd been in the library for the better part of the day. Hey, what was an unemployed twenty-something to do when he didn't have classes? Well, an unemployed twenty-something like Doug, that is. Normal guys would probably be out having something resembling a social life.

Ah, well.

Doug's token nod towards being social was that he didn't have his earbuds in and his iPod going. For Doug, this was the equivalent of an open door. It was known pretty much Institute-wide that a Doug without earbuds in meant a Doug you wouldn't be interrupting at something important.

Not that he was paying attention to anything outside of the books he was paging through as he translated a document from Latin into English. He could read it, of course, but sometimes it was much more fun to do it the so-called normal way.